


Proverbial Lines and Personal Space

by jayilyse



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayilyse/pseuds/jayilyse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A frown tugs at the fringes of your mouth. You do not know what to do. You do not know what to say to make this well again. For lack of superior phrasing, you have completely fucked things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proverbial Lines and Personal Space

Kanaya Maryam, now is the time where you can say the time honored human phrase “you are in deep shit”.

All you were doing before seems so inconsequential compared to this – all the thinking and doubting and hoping finally coming into a culmination due to one little mistake. You doubt this can be fixed. You crossed what she would call the “proverbial line”.  
This was a private moment for her.

You intruded on it.

Let us just back track a little and see what led you to this inexcusable interference of privacy.

This morning – or night, you are never quite sure anymore – you were doing some rounds on your typical clown hunt. He is quite elusive. You know he has all the bodies of your fallen comrades, but even with your heightened sense of smell in regards to blood you cannot find him – not for the undead life of you. After another hour of unfruitful searching, you decided to allocate more time later to continue. It was sort of mindless as you continued walking through the similar looking hallways. Of course, you were still highly aware of sounds and on guard for potential changes in them. However, since you found no changes, the corridors started to blend in and merge with each other, per the usual, until they were exactly the same. Your mind happened to wander as you roamed about.

What will you do when you find the bodies, at any rate? It is not like you have any place to put them. You do not like the idea of Gamzee having them, however, what could you do? A human corpse party is out of the question. You figure you would have to stow them away in another room and hope they keep, pending on if you find somewhere else to properly place them. If that murderous clown does not find them again, that is. What is he even doing with them? You supposed he could make some elixir out of their blood or something. You shook your head. No, not even he would do that. At least, you think. He has no use for the blood.

But you do.

You shuddered at the thought. You know it is a necessary process for you now – a thirst you cannot quench, only assuage. You do not have to feed often, which you are grateful for. It is still highly embarrassing for you. Specifically when you remember all those Rainbow Drinker novels you read – how they are temptations of the day, compelling, in addition to being mysterious as they glow. They were alleged to be smooth tongued in the way they speak.

You are none of these things.

You do not feel you are anywhere close to being a sultry troll. You are not mysterious; you are practically an open book. You are sure even the oblivious Karkat can figure out how you feel, yet she has not said a word. You are sure that smooth tongued is the farthest description of how you are. You bumble around with words. You are never sure what to say or how to say it to get your point across and in this fashion, you ramble on and on and on.

It makes you feel especially foolish around her.

It is similar to how you felt towards Vriska. It is similar, yet completely different at the same time. 

Both females made and or make you feel idiotic for continually feeling this way. It was, in actuality, painful for you to auspistice between Vriska and Eridan – because of it you completely failed to appropriately auspistice between her and Tavros. You and Vriska did not have much in common – you simply flushed for her. It was possibly her bravado or her constant assurance in her decisions that was what attracted you to her. You truly do not know. It is baffling, to say the least.

With Rose, it is different. You at least have some things in common with her – researching before attempting action, reading, plus a certain obsession with the occult, though yours is specifically drawn to Rainbow Drinkers. It took a while for you to appreciate it, but the fine art of sarcasm is currently something you both enjoy. She is an avid listener, as are you. Like Vriska, and unlike you, it appears she is always sure of her precise decision making. It is something you admire – an ability you aspire to have.

There is another striking difference between how you felt with Vriska and how you feel with Rose. With Vriska, you had no intention of telling her of your flushed inclination. The situation was, in fact, doomed to failure. This time, with Rose, it does not seem so. From time to time, between your ramblings and betwixt your horrible attempts at sarcasm, you are awarded with this rare and magnificent event – a genuine smile from her. Often she only smirks, answering back with a witty reply. It is more infrequent that you get a laugh out of her, although it does happen on odd occasions. It makes this weird, non-existent lump appear in your protein chute. All you can do is hope that she does not notice the warmth rise to your cheeks. If she does, she has never mentioned this either.

You long for the moments where you actually touch her – the most miniscule moment of touch is celebrated with victory cheers in every part of your think pan. Your skin is warm, to an extent; nevertheless it is significantly cooler due to you being part of the living dead. It makes the yearning for potential sources of heat maddening. When you are reading an ancient tome together, there is always a craving for a happenstance where you both reach to turn the page at the same time; now and then your hand accidentally touches hers. You would do anything to let it linger, though you always pull your hand away quickly. She will give you a quizzical look, a shrug, along with a turn of the page at every instance of this happening. There are other times, when you feel courageous enough, that you ask her to model for an outfit you are making. She has yet to say no to the offer, yet you still feel nervous asking about it. When measuring her for one fabric or another, you try to be as gentle as possible and as nimble as can be. You do not want her suspecting that you want to hold her close. You do not want her suspecting that you feel the way you do without having prepared yourself for it first. 

Even though you have hope, you acknowledge that there is always the possibility that she does not return your affection.  
It is at this point that your thoughts were interrupted by a foreign, albeit familiar sound. You focused your hearing so that you could hear this new, enchanting, sound better. As you walked farther down the corridor, the voice came closer and closer until you reached a door that was open a smidgen. It was cracked open enough to see who was making the noise.  
Rose.

You bit down on your lip to keep from making a peep of surprise. Was this really her? Not that her voice was not hypnotizing before, but the way she is using it now is completely intoxicating. What was it called? Had she explained this use of vocal chords before? Ah, yes – you started to vaguely remember something she told you about Earth’s art of “singing”. It is a form of music, and is oftentimes very therapeutic for humans. Trolls did have music – Rose had said, based on the way you described it to her, troll music kept to percussion and basic strings without the use of voice. That is an extra tidbit. It did not matter at that moment.  
All that mattered was this…this captivating scene. There was a thought in the back of your mind – one that said this was invading Rose’s privacy, that you should not be here – yet it was so unique, so intriguing that you could not manage to tear yourself away. You wanted to hear more – yet this confounded door was in your way. Your fingers placed themselves upon it, trying to open it up a bit more without you realizing you were doing it.

You had forgotten that these doors creak.

Rose whipped around so promptly it was comparable to Dave’s flash-step, except that she had only twisted her whole body around to face where you were. Her hood blurred at the movement for a split second. Her eyes were wide with an awfully un-Rose like shock.

Kanaya Maryam, you are in deep shit.

Back to the present, shall we?

You, not expecting her to turn around, forget to take your hand off the door when you flail backward. This makes the door swing open, creaking more with the extra momentum, as well as hit the metallic wall with a deafening slam. You are like a spotted hoof beast in a bright light. You got caught and now you feel terrible about what you have just done. Rose is standing there, looking at you – her face turning from shock into a classic dead-pan expression, slowly but surely gauging the situation at hand. You eye the corridor to the left; however, you can tell she is still staring at you. Your face must be dappled jade green, as you can feel the subtle warmth rising to them. There is a moment of complete silence.

And another.

And yet another.

It is starting to turn from moments to sweeps when Rose finally speaks up.

“Kanaya.”

You cannot make yourself look at her. You gulp, although you say nothing. Stare down the hallway, Kanaya. All you have to do is keep from looking at her –

“Kanaya.”

It is slightly louder, more of a demand without being one – a “look at me” without saying it.

You lose your resolve and you look at her. Her face is a great deal calmer than it was merely a short time ago. It is back to her usual demeanor. Her eyes though – her eyes clue you in to different ideas. They suggest hurt – hurt and confusion. You cannot bear to look at them any longer and instead target your eyes on the point above her “shoulder blade”, the point being the farthest wall of her respite block. Maybe it still appears as if you are looking straight at her because she asks you a question.  
“Why are you here?”

You mumble something incoherent.

“Kanaya?” she says, her tone turning a tad softer.

You try speaking louder.

“I was on my usual Gamzee hunt. It yielded no results and I was roving about without knowing where I was going. I did not mean to interrupt. I was not thinking correctly when I decided to listen in. I deeply apologize for it – I truly am sorry, it is a sincerely regrettable action, I do not –“

“Kanaya.”

“– know how I can make it up to you. If there is anything I can do, please make me aware of it. I guarantee you I will –“

“Kanaya, you are rambling.”

You stop your words in their tracks. You glance down to the floor below you. You dare yourself to look her in the eye again – and take your own challenge. Her eyes display a lot less of the emotion that you thought you saw before. A frown tugs at the fringes of your mouth. You do not know what to do. You do not know what to say to make this well again. For lack of superior phrasing, you have completely fucked things up. 

Rose lets out a sigh, putting three of her fingers to her forehead.

“It’s fine. Do not be too upset about it. May I ask how much of it you heard?”

How much of it you heard? You ponder the question. Yes, you were listening. You were listening intently, as a matter of fact. Yet you do not remember any words. Only how it sounded – how it echoed throughout your entirety. You truthfully cannot say that you “heard” anything.

“I did not hear any words, if that is what you mean.”

Rose seemingly considers your response for a moment. Letting it “sink in”, as she would say. After this brief moment of thinking, she looks at you straight in the eye. Her voice is low, and if you did not have a better sense of hearing than most, you would not have heard it.

“Would you like to?”

You blink – Truth be told, you blink quite a few times – opening your mouth to respond and then closing it when you recognize that you had not thought of anything to say. After a couple rounds of this, you manage to get some sort of speech to fall from your lips.

“I apologize, but I do not comprehend. I was under the impression that you were upset about me lis –“

“Accept the offer, or leave it.”

You gloss over her face with your eyes to check if there is some hidden meaning behind this proposal. There seems to be none – then again you never could tell what any of the hidden meanings are when she has them, so it would not matter even if she did. Therefore, you let out a meager “yes, if that is what you would like”. Her lips fight over what sort of expression she should have and it decides to start with a worrying almost-frown and then a slight smirk at the edge of her lips – the second expression is the one she directs at you as she puts her back against the door, stretching her arm out with a slight bow – as if to say “come in, then”. So you do.

You have not come into Rose’s respite block since you helped her decorate the wall that can be seen from the entrance. After that, she thanked you for your help and said she would be able to do it on her own from there. It is decorated with a deceiving sort of modesty, which you can easily tell has complicated underlying forethought before anything was even put up. It is pleasing to the eye, and you would love to admire it – except something else has caught your attention. The door has closed, groaning its protest the whole way, with a small, still perceptible, click. You turn your head and angle your body a bit so that you can see Rose. She gives you a smile – it is a kind you have not seen until now – the heartbreaking type. She motions for you to sit on her bed, and you do as told – or rather, motioned.

You have not sat on a bed before, though you have one in your room for convenience purposes – similar to how all the humans have recuperacoons in their room. The bed is fairly squishy. It sinks with your weight, but does not break. It is not uncomfortable, per say. You do not know if you could ever sleep on such a contraption. You were sitting on the bed, noting its peculiarities, thus you did not notice when Rose approached. You were taken aback when she sat down on the bed – at least, right next to you. The mattress modifies to adjust to the weight – dipping down slightly on your end, and moving her closer to you. This is admittedly the closest she has ever been when sitting next to you. You center your attention back to the newfangled contraption you are sitting on – at the tiny space that is the distance between your leg and hers. You notice how pale she is, even in the muted light of her respite block – faintly more lit up by your own glowing. Hopefully the color that has reawakened on your face is not as bad as it feels. It is a while before Rose speaks again.

“It is a lullaby that my mother sang to me when I was younger.”

You glimpse up at her, the side of her face in the direction of the front of yours. Her eyes are transfixed on the hands – hers – folded in her lap.

“What is a lullaby?” you ask, interested and somewhat ashamed that you do not already know.

She turns to you with that recently found bittersweet smile on her face. You decide you do not like it as much as her genuine smile – or her smirk, really.

“It is a song that is normally sung to children to help them sleep.”

You nod. Children, toddlers, and babies are all synonyms for what humans call grubs – except that stage lasts much longer, and there is no cocoon stage or molting stage. Humans are very strange.

“I cannot locate any origins for the song. It has led me to believe that my mother created it herself.” Rose pauses, unfolding her hands and placing them on each respective thigh. She moves her gaze away from you and back down at her hands. She starts to grip lightly on the fabric over her legs.

“Are you sure you would like to hear it?”

Rose momentarily looks back at you, her hands still holding on to the previously mentioned fabric, and you see a glint of something in her eyes, before she lets her hands preoccupy her vision once more, that you have never in your life thought you would see in them.

Uncertainty.

You do not hesitate.

“I would love nothing more.”

An inkling of another smile is found on her lips, although she does not let it come out this time. Rose breathes in a little, letting her hands relax. Without warning she starts to sing – the sound is much more…”heavenly”, than it was when you were outside the door. You fight to figure out what she is saying – or singing, on second thought – beyond the simple sound that is her voice. You manage to do it after a great deal of effort.

  
_“Listen little bud, I know you’ll grow  
And times will soon be changing  
But for now just frolic in the meadow  
And soon a rose will awaken_   


  
_Lightning bolts and stormy clouds  
Could get in your way  
But even when the rain enshrouds  
A rose can bloom today_   


  
_Soon every rain cloud seems to go  
To them you can say goodbye  
That’s when you show how your petals glow  
Against a lavender sky_   


  
_I know that it hasn’t rained yet  
But soon you will see  
How a rose is something no one forgets  
In flights of fantasy_   


  
_So, little darling count your sheep  
Please little bud, not another peep  
The path ahead sure is steep  
But now it’s time to sleep  
Now it’s time to sleep. “_   


Some of the words and ideas you have to translate for yourself – such as how a sheep is essentially the equivalent of a wool beast, as well as how Earth’s sky can turn a lavender color just before the sunset as compared to its usual shade of blue. You remember that Rose’s name is based off of a flower on Earth, also called a rose. It is a curious thing about Earth foliage that many need rain to grow, though there are some that do not need as much. A rose in particular is irregular because it is a thorny plant, yet it is the one most picked by many humans to give to others. The human sitting next to you has explained how roses of different colors can mean many different things, but the one it is most known for is its representation of the human’s linear quadrant of “love”. You presume that the inclusion of the rose in the song is proper. You feel that it has some deeper meaning that you do not get – steeling yourself to figure it out later.

After the song is done, Rose casts her attention on your face once more. There is an odd concoction of bewilderment and…relief? You do not really know what it is for sure. It could be any emotion for all you know – you like to think you are decent at reading others but it has always been difficult to read Rose, and Dave is impossible to read compared to her – you are going off on a tangent again. She is looking at you still, and the silence has not broken. You suppose it is your turn to speak up.

“That was indescribable.”

Rose’s cheeks start to tint an understated hue of pink; however, since it is not that noticeable in the first place, due to the dim lighting in the respite block, you do not detect it. Her words are calm and collected – calculative, almost – when she speaks.

“I have never sung in front of anyone before.”

“I do not see why not. It is a very soothing sound.”

She gives a tiny chuckle. Well, at least you amused her in some way?

“My mother would sing whenever she could – even in drunken stupors. She stopped singing this lullaby to me when I was about nine or ten – about four and a half or five sweeps for you, I believe. It was around then that I started viewing everything she did as a passive aggressive attempt to irk me. I am surprised I remember the words.”

Rose, from what you can tell, is downcast, yet she never tears her gaze away from you. Her tone is unwavering, it feels like it is a moment where her voice could shatter in an instant – it just has not done so. She pauses for an instance – may be to keep her composure – and continues on.

“I loathe admitting I was mistaken about her, however, in retrospect, she did not seem to be doing that. Despite the alcohol induced shenanigans, she, in all reality, did care for me and did her best to communicate that to me. I took it as a challenge instead.”

Sighing, Rose gives a fleeting peek at the space between your leg and hers. You have been listening and trying to understand what she is saying. It is hard to do since you were raised by a lusus, not a “family member”. You are very deep in thought – contemplating how you could sympathize with her. This is why you are shocked when there is abrupt movement on the bed – a squeak from the mattress, as well as a flurry of yellow hair in your vision. You try to assess what is happening. By the time you do, there is a human girl resting her head on what she would call your “shoulder” and there is no evidence that a space between both your leg and hers ever existed. You turn your head to where your body is facing – to the wall. Rose is physically touching you – willingly, on top of that. You are convinced you are tinted green everywhere from your face to your neck. You can feel her pulse – including the blood flow from it. The ever constant urge for a “snack” rises up from the depths of your mind. You ignore it as best as you can. You did not have time to tense up before Rose made the movement – it seemed silly to be apprehensive now, especially since you have yearned for this type of affection for a dreadfully long time, so you relax. There is a companionable silence before she says anything else.

“I miss her, Kanaya.”

You can understand this somewhat, as you miss your lusus greatly. But what can you do to console her? You try to think and not a single useful idea comes to mind. That is when a new thought invades your psyche – stop thinking – go by instinct – is that not what is best in these situations? You attempt to clear your head and perform your next action without thought.  
You rest your head on top of Rose’s. Her hair is much softer than yours, though you have taken many gratuitous amounts of measures to have your hair not be as wiry as other trolls. Yours is still incredibly course in comparison. You offer the only feeble words that come to your think pan first.

“I am sorry, Rose.”

Rose nuzzles into you, and you can feel the blood rushing to your head – a dizziness that starts to plague your being. It feels good, in a strange way.

“Why are you sorry? You have done nothing to be sorry about.”

You pull your hands up gradually from where they were stationed on your legs to each respective upper thigh. The words flow without faltering. 

“I desire to do more for you. I recognize that it is natural to feel the way you do; on the other hand, I do not like seeing that you are upset. Nor do I like how you wear that sad smile on your face. I wish I could make you, for lack of a more effective term, feel better.”

Rose is quiet for a bit. Then she puts her hand on your hand. Her fingers lace between yours – her thumb positions itself to the side of your palm. That familiar non-lump in your protein chute emerges, along with what feels like an exceptionally large amount of winged-polleniavores in your digestive acid sac.

“You do plenty more than you know.”

For countless minutes, you and Rose sit there – her thumb now tenderly caressing you with a repetitive motion from the side of your palm, to as far as she can reach with it on top of your hand, and back. She nestles into you more. You do not want this occasion to end. It may be time to tell her how you feel. It seems much more likely now that she would be receptive to them. You open your mouth to try and nearly get a “ruh” sound out of your mouth when she is off of your shoulder and disconnects her hand from yours. You feel another shift on the bed, since she has turned her whole body toward you. You already miss the extra heat. You do not think you could be more disappointed. However, when she says your name, you turn to her – shifting your entire body in the same way she did – to spot her trade mark “I know something you do not” smirk. You try to figure out what could be up her sleeve – it could be an innumerable quantity of things, so nothing in particular strikes your think pan.  
“I have something to tell you, Kanaya. However, it might be more advantageous if I showed you. Come closer, would you?”  
You had not noticed anything different on her person. What could she have to show you? Despite your misgivings, you maneuver yourself closer to her.

“A bit further, if you will.”

Once more, you move your entire body in her direction.

“Closer.”

At the moment, your body and hers are on the border of personal space. You give her a puzzled look, because if she had not wanted more space to herself she would not have left her previous position, but you lean in a little so as to not cross the bubble that is her personal space with the total of your body.

You feel something soft – something smooth – touch your lips. Rose’s eyes are closed and you can feel her pulse beating into your being. She is kissing you. Rose Lalonde is kissing you. As soon as this realization dawns on you, your eyes, the ones that were shocked completely open, feel so heavy that they close. A low hum comes from the back of your protein chute – it is a totally new sound to you – a sound that you have never imagined you can make. You push into it a little, being wary of how your fangs could effortlessly pierce her spongy flesh. She puts her arms around your neck and sucks on your lower lip.

…Personal space be damned.

You extend your arms and wrap them around Rose’s waist, pulling her as close to you as you can. She divulges a startled squeak, briefly pulling her lips from yours. You swiftly remedy this by placing your lips back on hers – she reciprocates by nibbling on your lips. You are positive that your digestive acid sac is flipping in on itself, and implosion is imminent. This feels too extraordinary to cease the action, though.

Rose licks your lower lip, and impulsively you open your mouth to let her inside. You let her take control, since you do not want to hurt her. Her tongue finds your fangs first, and she is cautiously licking at them – as if she did not know they were there already. Eventually she gets to the tip of one of your fangs, pressing into it lightly like she is testing to see if it will hurt. You can feel her blood flowing at the very tip of the fang she is working on. You grip her tighter; pull her closer – if blood gets involved in this situation you do not know what you will do. You attempt to resist the temptation to bite down and nearly fail – thankfully, Rose stops pressing into the fang before any blood flows out – in favor of massaging your tongue with hers.

The hum comes back with vengeance while a shiver is sent down your vertebrae. Rose makes a considerably loud “mmm” upon the initial contact. Her tongue teases the tip of yours, encouraging you to tease back. You start to graze over the underside of the probing muscle, noting that it is smaller than yours, and gloss over the top of it. She imitates your motions. Ultimately it boils down to you – and hopefully her – enjoying the sensation from it. One of her hands has managed to get into your hair – said hand is lightly tugging on the rough strands. Soon enough, that same hand finds the base of one of your horns – then she is wrapping her fingers around it. The action sends what you can only express is a warm chill throughout your entire frame – especially into your lower anatomy. You are struggling to breathe now – your senses are on fire.

Clearly Rose was having problems breathing too, seeing that she breaks the kiss – but not without a lingering suck on your tongue. Her panting is just as ragged as yours. Her hand is traveling from your horn, back down to your neck, and around to your cheek. Her forehead is pressed against your think pan protector, and your haggard breaths are mingling in the gap between both of your mouths. After an unknown length of time, she gives you a chaste peck and smiles at you – the genuine one.

“Perhaps it is time you get back to your Gamzee hunt.”

“The clown can wait.”

“My, my, Miss Maryam, are you saying that I am more important than ritual pursuits of murder?”

“Without a doubt.”

Rose laughs – a perfectly orchestrated medium pitched giggle that makes you grin, fangs and all, in the most unabashed way. She takes the arm that is still around your neck off, and the hand on your cheek finds its way down your arm until it finds your hand. She gently nudges your fingers into removing themselves from the small of her back. You take the hint and remove both, albeit very reluctantly.

“I have some things to figure out.”

You have the urge to whine – you have never whined in your life – undead or otherwise. You are pouting without meaning to. Once again, she laughs.

“I am not kicking you out permanently, I assure you.”

You search her face for any potential hidden meaning. You think she is sincere. Standing to take your leave, you start to walk away when she grabs your hand. Turning toward her, you raise an eyebrow. She smirks and kisses your hand.

“I look forward to doing this again.”

Blushing should also be damned, yet it is impossible for you not to be at least a little embarrassed. You stutter a bit with your next word, clearing your protein chute into the free hand.

“A-as do I, Rose.”

She lets go of your hand – as you saunter to the door you can tell she is staring at you until the exact moment you shut it behind you. You do not think you can try and track down Gamzee right now, like you had previously planned. However, you do think one thing.

If this is where crossing the proverbial line leads…you should do it more often.


End file.
